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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926945">the not-so-runaway groom-to-be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacobby/pseuds/jacobby'>jacobby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Introspection, M/M, Past Character Death, Stream of Consciousness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:33:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacobby/pseuds/jacobby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan is simple, as everyone seems to tell him with a voice one would use as if speaking to a child. Eddie will be back, because that’s Eddie. Eddie always comes back. And it isn’t just Eddie, too. Losers always come back, because Losers stick together. Their faith in themselves knows no bounds. Rightfully so, although Richie thinks that twenty-seven years is a lot longer of a wait than what he would ask for. And he rarely asks for much. All he needs now is to drill it in his head until he’s convinced of this truth. </p><p>So the plan, as it stands, is fairly simple. </p><p>--</p><p>AKA Eddie isn't in their apartment, but the Losers are convinced he'll be back. Except Richie, that is, with his thoughts already miles ahead of him. Way to leave a man hanging two days before their own wedding.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the not-so-runaway groom-to-be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>my gift for flynn for the it fandom exchange. they asked for "reddie angst perhaps surrounding the fact that eddie is in an abusive situation with Sonia." enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>About the third time Richie suggested to call the police, he finally lets a tear trickle down his cheek. He has never exactly argued for his cause as much as he has for what he’s feeling, which he hasn’t really done much of either. Par for the course when it comes to himself. Less feelings are hurt if less are revealed, and hurt has been a recurring theme for the day. And it’s only noon. </p><p>His friends are immediately understanding despite having to shoot Richie’s suggestion down before there can be any debate in the first place. </p><p>Really, he understands what they’re trying to tell him. He understands that no, the police won’t do anything about a grown adult male who has only been away from home for a few hours, likely on his own volition, although Richie would like to interject otherwise. And no, there is no way Pennywise is behind this, but yes, the police would be totally useless anyway if Pennywise were involved somehow.</p><p>Not that Pennywise <em>is</em> involved or is even remotely close to being alive because Richie and the rest of the Losers made sure of that. But if it really were Pennywise, Richie is not in the mood to wrap his head around how that fucking clown managed to hop onto a plane to Los Angeles, much less how It was aware of his and Eddie’s wedding. The least that fucker could’ve done was RSVP’d, then the most of Richie’s worry would have been whether he should bring a bat to the reception or if Stan’s unresolved anger towards It would be enough to bring It down to size again so Stan could personally stomp on It. Repeatedly. </p><p>But since they’re more than sure that Pennywise isn’t involved, Richie is forced to deal with a more realistic hand. Richie is far from perfect, and he knows that, and Eddie knows that. All the Losers are aware of how imperfect Richie can be. He at least wishes that none of them believe he is undeserving of Eddie, of his love, as much as Richie himself does. </p><p>Except, maybe that’s changed. Maybe Eddie finally fucking came to his senses. Just two day before their wedding too. </p><p>He blinks away the rest of his tears. </p><p>Right.</p><p>Richie won’t be calling the police any time soon, so that’s him left with absolutely nothing to do but wait. And he isn’t better at that than, say, bailing on the friends he himself invited to their apartment earlier in the day to find Eddie, because Bev seems to be glued to his hip, and there’s really only so much his sorry ass could do when a pair of eyes are on him at all times, not to mention the other five that glance at him every other second. </p><p>He moves to the living room when he feels that he no longer deserves his lunch’s attention. Sorry to the more than half a slice of pizza left on his plate, but it isn’t working out. </p><p>Of course, Bev is hot on her heels, bringing along her own paper plate, to sit on the loveseat just opposite the sofa, where Richie has taken kindly to seat himself and sulk. </p><p>“Alright,” he tells Bev when he feels a hole through his skull from her staring. He announces it loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not leaving, okay?” </p><p>“Eddie will be back, Rich,” Ben replies for the rest of them. </p><p>Richie is the least confident in that answer. </p><p>Even Stan, Eddie’s brother-in-arms in the land of the dead more than a year ago, doesn’t seem as fazed as Richie is. Fucking traitor, because he’s the one who’s supposed to understand what it means to—</p><p>Well, what it means to be terrified. No, not terrified. Brave. Stan and Eddie are the ones that know what it’s like to be brave. But in the context that is Richie’s life at the moment, where thoughts running a mile a minute without pause for any sense or logic is a part of his system he hasn’t quite learned to unlearn yet, it’s easy to think the worst. </p><p>Richie would rather have Eddie hate him than hate the life he has right now. The life he’s been given a second chance to. The life Eddie fought for. Eddie, by all means, can throw his life with Richie in the dumpster by the stinky back alley near their apartment. <em>But please, let Eddie keep his own. </em></p><p>It’s horrible, and he wholeheartedly acknowledges that it’s horrible. But what can he do? The rest of the Losers aren’t really giving him much of a choice. </p><p>So he waits, and he tries not to cry because God forbid he breaks down in front of all his friends. God forbid he gets puffy eyes and a snotty nose on his wedding day, if there’s still a wedding day to be had. </p><p>Bev places the paper plate on the coffee table and approaches Richie. She gives Richie a side hug, and he is absolutely <em>not crying. No. </em>Totally uncalled for and is currently second on the list of things he does not need for the day, the top of that list being not having Eddie in their apartment. </p><p>He pushes Bev away, meek and not really wanting to. He hides behind his hands as he does his best not to sob too loudly while Bev wraps her arms around him and plays with his hair. He doesn’t notice that the rest of the Losers have gathered around him, like the freakshow that he is, until another hand reaches for him and rubs circles on his back. When his breathing finally evens out, he detaches his face from his palms and is met with Bill’s baby blues. </p><p>“Bit close there, Big Bill,” he manages. “I’ll let you know if the wedding doesn’t pull through; give Mikey a run for his money.” That earned him a few snorts and a light pat on the cheek from Bill. </p><p>“Hang in there, bud.” Bill graces him with a nod before standing. </p><p>Richie clears his throat and shuffles his feet as he himself scrambles to stand, suddenly self-conscious now that everyone’s attention is on him. “If you guys don’t mind? I think I’m gonna head back to bed. Sleep this off. You guys can go back to your hotel or. Don’t. Whatever. I don’t care if you’re all still here when I wake up.” </p><p>Ah, deflection. Richie’s best friend. </p><p>“Let it be known that I do want Eddie around when I wake up. Do what you want with that information.” His voice breaks. He shrugs.</p><p>“Richie, honey.” Bev follows, but Richie waves her away, and she stops just in time that their bodies don’t clash when Richie pauses by the foot of the stairs. </p><p>“I’ll be fine, Bev. I don’t need a babysitter.” </p><p>“You do, a little bit,” Stan says from the other side of the room, earning a scowl from Patty. “Good night, Trashmouth.” </p><p>“Yeah, g’night.” </p><p>“We love you, Rich.” </p><p>“Love you, too.” </p><p>The plan is simple, as everyone seems to tell him with a voice one would use as if speaking to a child. Eddie will be back, because that’s Eddie. Eddie always comes back. And it isn’t just Eddie, too. Losers always come back, because Losers stick together. Their faith in themselves knows no bounds. Rightfully so, although Richie thinks that twenty-seven years is a lot longer of a wait than what he would ask for. And he rarely asks for much. All he needs now is to drill it in his head until he’s convinced of this truth. </p><p>So the plan, as it stands, <em>is </em>fairly simple. </p><p>They wait, amongst other things. And Richie’s other things right now is to hopefully catch up on some sleep. Waking up at four in the morning without so much as a cup of coffee for the rest of the day left his senses frazzled and fried. Although, he’s fast to admit, if asked, and thankfully no one did, that administering the tiniest drop of caffeine in his system would leave him all the more frazzled and fried than the lack of sleep ever could. </p><p>He’s a bit of a lost cause downstairs anyway. He most certainly refuses to sleep on the sofa where he could possibly use Bev’s legs as his pillow. Where Stan, or possibly Bill, could sit on the other side of the couch where Richie’s feet rest, so they could massage the hell out of the soles of them. Where the sound of Ben or Mike cleaning up, walking around or whispering between themselves could possibly drown out whatever lingering thought Richie wants gone. It’s all very tempting, but he isn’t in the mood to be coddled. </p><p>Because being coddled would just remind him more of Eddie. The way his thighs feel under the weight of Richie’s big head, the way his hands feel on his feet as an attempted massage turns to tickling, and the way his voice sounds as he mutters to himself and makes snide comments about whatever sitcom is on TV. </p><p>Yeah, maybe sleeping is just his sorry excuse to be left alone so he can bawl his eyes out for the rest of the day. </p><p>When he finally reaches his and Eddie’s bedroom, door slightly ajar, he’s already a sniff or two ahead, glasses off as he tries to muffle the sounds of his sobbing before leaning on the door to close it. He lets a hack from his throat escape his lips before he trudges on to their bed. </p><p>He doesn’t need the clearest of eyesights to know where everything is. Their bedroom is his solace, his haven. He’ll be damned if he trips over his own mess he sometimes <em>so carefully </em>scatters all over the floor, much to Eddie’s chagrin. </p><p>No mess out of place, as he always says. And really, he might be the only person to ever say that. </p><p>In hindsight, he supposes there are a few things he can’t exactly account for even in a room as familiar as their own. And by a few things, he means only one thing, that is another lump of a person under layers of blankets and a duvet, and a few pillows too, for good measure. </p><p>Richie almost pukes his heart out at the squeal he hears from the body he accidentally plops down on.</p><p>“Eddie?” Richie breathes out after he puts his glasses back on and his throat manages not to choke on itself. “What the fuck? Where have you been?” Richie reaches to embrace Eddie, now seated and rubbing at the part of his head Richie hit with his shoulder. If a few more blobs of tears slip out and soak the collar of Eddie’s shirt, Eddie doesn’t mention it. </p><p>The silence stretches, and Richie’s heart sinks when Eddie doesn’t return the embrace. Eddie doesn’t do much of anything. </p><p>Richie gives it a few more seconds before letting go, mind racing with the idea that this could be the last hug they’ll ever get to share before Eddie finally drops that other shoe on his fucking face. </p><p>They stare at each other. Richie fidgets but patiently waits for Eddie to speak, who seems to want to speak but couldn’t get his mind around a single thought. He opens and closes his mouth, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before resuming what Richie can only consider to be his personal brand of hell. </p><p>Eddie gives up, opting instead to look at the way his own fists clench and unclench on the sheets. </p><p>“Eddie?” Richie asks, taking Eddie’s forlorn expression as his cue to say something. “Where have you been?” he asks again. </p><p>“Storage closet,” Eddie answers. </p><p>Richie looks at him in disbelief, with the slight upturn on the edges of his lips earning Richie a pillow to the head. </p><p>“Asshole. It’s not funny.” </p><p>“I know it’s not funny. I was just about to have my weekly meltdown if you haven’t noticed.” Richie sniffs. “Except it’s a little funny if you don’t think too hard about it.”</p><p>Eddie whacks him with the pillow again, but with a lot less strength this time. He throws said pillow by the headboard after Richie concedes, and just about throws himself with it, face down and away from Richie’s gaze. </p><p>Eddie groans, a muffled little sound that causes Richie’s heart to catch on fire and freeze simultaneously. This little turd goes missing—no, not missing, just out for a walk—to the storage closet, but still—and Richie is already experiencing a deficiency of basking under Eddie’s presence.  </p><p>“Hey,” Richie tries. He runs a hand up and down Eddie’s arm, then lies down beside him and curls up in his warmth. </p><p>Eddie turns to face Richie, arms wrapped around his neck. He gives Richie’s temple a kiss, then another, then another, and he sighs. “I’m sorry, Richie. I really am.” </p><p>Richie can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, acid burning his chest. “It’s okay,” he replies, a whisper he himself can barely hear what with the beating of his heart reaching his head. “It’s okay,” he tries again, just a tad bit louder this time. </p><p>“It’s not,” Eddie says. </p><p>And there it is, isn’t it? The other shoe. Not so much dropping as it is kicking Richie in the balls repeatedly. And then on the ribs when he finally bends over from the pain, and then to the head when he falls flat to the ground.</p><p>“Okay, it’s not.” Richie stays still, breath hitched with anticipation he can’t quite contain. “Eds, if you wanna…you don’t have to…” Richie clears his throat from the bile stuck in it. “I can handle it, Eddie. I know I’m all sorts of out of it right now, but I can handle a bit of rejection. With a bit of time, that is. I just thought I lost you completely all over again, you know? I just—” </p><p>“<em>What?” </em>Eddie pushes Richie away to take a good hard look on his face. They meet eye to eye, and Eddie’s brows are so furrowed, Richie has to physically restrain himself from kissing him between his eyes by biting his lower lip. “What the fuck are you talking about, Trashmouth?”</p><p>“Um? I don’t know. What are <em>you </em>talking about?” </p><p>“Oh, fuck you, Rich. Did you think I was breaking up with you?” </p><p>“I don’t know but it made sense in my head.” </p><p>“God, you’re an idiot.” Eddie tightens his hold on Richie again, planting Richie’s face on his chest. “But you’re <em>my </em>idiot. And do not, for a second, think that that’s about to change any time soon. We’re getting married in two days, stupid.” </p><p>“Oh thank God.” It slips out of him without him really meaning to. “You know it’s a little late to go back into the closet. You’re all over my Instagram feed, and I’ve already sneaked you in the new script for that Netflix thing I’m doing. And really, Eds, the <em>storage </em>closet—”</p><p>“You can shut up now,” Eddie says. He shifts to give him and Richie a little more space between themselves and Richie follows suit. They’re on their sides, looking at each other with as much seriousness as Richie can allow himself to have and as much as Eddie is capable of, which is <em>a lot. </em></p><p>“What’s wrong, Eds? I thought you—” Richie swallows the rest of the words where they may never ever be seen again. </p><p>Eddie’s expression softens with understanding. “Oh, baby. I’m alive and safe. Just a bit wrecked, is all.” </p><p>“Is it about the wedding? We can still call it off without breaking up.” </p><p>Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t want to call the wedding off, Rich. Stop getting ahead of yourself.” </p><p>“Then what is it?” </p><p>“It’s just,” Eddie closes his eyes. “The first time I got married, my mom was so relieved.” </p><p>“Okay?” </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie reaches for Richie’s hand and intertwines their fingers together. “I wanna speak without the comments. I don’t wanna go off track. Is that okay?” </p><p>“Of course, babe.” Richie pulls Eddie’s hand close to his lips so he could give each finger a little kiss. </p><p>“So, yes. My mom was relieved. I think she knew—about me being gay. Thought it was something I could get over given the right circumstances—” </p><p>Richie snorts, then hides his face behind their clasped hands when Eddie looks at him pointedly. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.” </p><p>“She thought being gay was a sickness. You know how she was. And I hate to say this, even when I’m well within my rights to. But she was such an awful fucking woman, Rich. Years after she’s dead and gone, I’m still finding myself fucking terrified. There’s this—” he scrunches up his nose, “this nagging in the back of my head. Like I did something—doing something wrong for being with another man. And this doesn’t end with my mother either. Myra actually thought she was doing my mother and myself a service. And I fucking believed them. A part of me knew I shouldn’t. Because I’m not an idiot, and when I got out of Derry, I was finding myself less and less scared of who I am outside of my mother’s scrutiny. But then I had to agree to the dumb idea of marrying my ex-wife because I was expecting all the wrong things to happen if I didn’t. </p><p>“I wanted to run away. I really did.” Tears stream down Eddie’s face. Richie wipes them away with his free hand as Eddie continues. “I did actually run away a few times. Not that that helped with anything. It only scared me even more. Everything I did for myself felt like the wrong decision to make. And it happened again and again and again and again. And I’m really sorry, Rich.” Eddie lets out a small sob that turns into an ugly cryfest, and it doesn’t take Richie long to follow. “When I realized that the wedding was so close, I couldn’t help but feel like I’m making the wrong decision again and oh my God, Richie, you don’t deserve that.” Another hack and sob. “Being with you is the most right, the bestest, most perfect fucking decision I have and will ever make.” </p><p>“Hey,” Richie’s voice sounds as hoarse as it feels. “Hey—” </p><p>“Shh, I’m not yet done. I couldn’t fucking handle it, Rich. I’ve been feeling so guilty and so selfish. I just—” Now, it’s Eddie who hides behind their hands. “I just want my mother’s voice out of my head.” It comes out loud and rough and <em>raw. </em>Richie wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the Losers heard it downstairs. Eddie stops talking, revelling with gasping and panting under the weight of Richie’s body curled over him. </p><p>“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Richie maintains a firm voice as he cooes and comforts Eddie. “You’re not selfish. I’m all yours, baby. I love you so much. I love you. I love you.”</p><p>There isn’t much Eddie says after. He’s breathing evens out, and Richie finds himself drawn to feeling for his heartbeat. Eddie’s here, and he’s safe, and he’s alive, and he’s as desperate for Richie’s touch as Richie is for his. </p><p>It’s a nice feeling, having Eddie there, whether or not it’s been tarnished by a day’s worth of anxiety and discomfort. Richie can forgive Eddie, already have before Eddie even bothered showing himself. There isn’t much Richie wouldn’t do for this little turd bundled up and safe and snoring. </p><p>Eddie could tell him to leave, and Richie wouldn’t even bother packing up. He’ll be out the door in no time. But he at least has some faith in Eddie’s love for him. Has faith in the years they’ve been friends and more than friends. Even when Richie can be the densest motherfucker sometimes, he’s not stupid enough to believe that Eddie can ever be hateful. </p><p>Hate for Pennywise is understandable. Hate for his mother and his ex-wife is allowable. But Richie doesn’t want Eddie consumed by hatred. Even if it’s toward people who deserve the worst. Because if they’re bad enough that Eddie hates them, then they don’t deserve any piece of Eddie at all. </p><p>Richie isn’t sure how long they stayed that way, because when he opens his eyes, it’s to wake up to a dark, empty room. He fumbles around the bed for warmth but finds that the other side is as cold as he feels. </p><p>He feels for his glasses on the mattress, and nothing. </p><p>He runs to the storage closet first, finds it a mess but empty. </p><p>He almost slips under his feet when he climbs down the stairs, but that’s more because he has long gangly limbs that don’t always cooperate with him, especially at speeds a lot faster than he’s used to. </p><p>“Eddie,” he cries halfway down. “Eddie,” he cries again when he reaches the foot of the stairs and the scrutiny of his friends. He can’t see their expressions per se, but he can feel the weight of their stares. </p><p>“I’m here, asshole,” Eddie replies, and a blurry blob of a body approaches him. He tosses himself over to Eddie, who accepts him in open arms. </p><p>Richie clings to him like life support.</p><p>“Where are your glasses?” Eddie asks. </p><p>“I couldn’t find them.” Richie doesn’t have the heart to let go.</p><p>“They’re on your bedside table, Rich,” Eddie replies. He doesn’t let go either, so Richie only hugs him tighter. </p><p>“I’ll get your fucking glasses, Trashmouth,” comes Stan’s voice. </p><p>“Way to break the moment, Stan,” Eddie quips just as Richie says, “You really know how to take care of a man, Staniel.” </p><p>Eventually, they break apart, only to be forced into a group hug with the rest of the Losers, even Stan who makes it back down just in time. They seat themselves around the living room. One of Richie’s standups is playing on the TV, apparently courtesy of Ben who thought they all needed a laugh after an emotional day. </p><p>Everyone is still at his apartment, Bill only leaving to buy drinks before Eddie even came down to see them. </p><p>Eddie explained half of what happened, telling everyone that yes, he did hide in the storage closet, and yes, it was only because he felt nervous about the wedding. It isn’t like the Losers aren’t gonna see right through that, but they aren’t assholes like Richie, so they let it go for another time. </p><p>“Can’t believe you guys are still here,” Richie says over a mouthful of leftover pizza. </p><p>“As if we’ll leave you alone, Richie,” Bev replies. </p><p>“Yeah, man. Losers stick together,” Mike says and offers Richie and Eddie a smile. </p><p>“I can’t believe Eddie hid in the <em>closet,</em>” Richie teased. </p><p>If looks could kill, Eddie would have him smited then and there. “I was gonna come out sooner. But I heard you panic and the next thing I know, all of you guys are here.” </p><p>“Like Mike said, Losers stick together,” says Ben. </p><p>It’s well over midnight when everybody decides that it’s time to go home. Bev and Ben went last after offering to help clean up with the mess of pizza boxes, beer bottles and pillows and blankets strewn across the floor. </p><p>Richie finds himself full of energy as he lies down beside Eddie, who’s already dozing off. There’s still that tension in his chest, pulling and clawing at his heart. He’s not exactly sure why, if it’s simply because of the sight of Eddie, cute cute <em>cute </em>Eddie, trying not to sleep as he waits for Richie to come to bed, or if it’s the fact that Eddie is still there despite everything that could have happened, that he thought would have happened. </p><p>Perhaps it’s because his biggest fears were just laid out in front of him, and there was nothing he could do but wait for the turnout. Schrodinger’s fear, except instead of a cat, it’s Eddie, and instead of a box, it’s a closet. </p><p>Guess that’s just his life now. </p><p>“Hey,” Richie says as he goes under the covers and pulls Eddie with him. “No more running away.” </p><p>Eddie gasps in surprise, but regains his composure after he settles under the duvet. “No more running away,” he repeats. </p><p>“I’m serious, Eds.” He wraps himself around Eddie, arms around Eddie’s torso and legs around Eddie’s own. “I don’t care if I don’t get any sleep. I’m keeping my eye on you.” </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Rich.” Eddie squirms, but doesn’t pull himself away. He shifts and turns until his forehead rests on the crook of Richie’s shoulders, and his arms and legs are wrapped around Richie as well. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>“I’m sorry, Rich. I promise to do right by you. But I’m really—”</p><p>“Shut up, Eds. What you did was stupid, and you scared the shit out of me and out of everyone even if they won’t admit it. But I’m not gonna fault you for having feelings.”  </p><p>“Richie—” </p><p>“I mean it, Eddie.” Richie doesn’t move, only tightens his hold. “I know I can’t take away what’s hurting you. I know it’s not that simple. But I can be strong for you, babe. And I know you’ll be strong for me when I need it.” </p><p>Eddie presses his lips against the exposed skin of Richie’s collar. “I will be, baby.” </p><p>“It’s—we’re—” Richie sighs. “We’re in this together. And if we both can’t be strong, we have our friends. But <em>God, </em>Eddie. I’m still so fucking relieved you’re beside me right now. I love you so much, you know that? I fucking love you, Edward Kaspbrak. I will fucking fight Pennywise again with nothing but the nails on my fingers and the teeth in my mouh just to prove to you that I fucking love you.”</p><p>“First of all, you fucking weirdo. Second, please don’t. I don’t need that fucking monster in my life again. And third, I love you too, Richie. Always. I always have, and I always fucking will.” </p><p>For the second time that day, they fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. They wake up sweaty and gross the following day after barely moving under the sheets, but Richie doesn’t mind. </p><p>He doesn’t care if he wakes up to Eddie’s quiet snoring, or wakes up to having a mouthful of Eddie’s hair, or wakes up to Eddie’s footsteps and rambling about how messy their room is, or how Richie needs to take care of his belongings. </p><p>As long as it’s Eddie, always, for the rest of their lives. </p><p>Because Eddie, as he himself once said, is the most right, the bestest, most perfect fucking decision Richie have and will ever make. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope this was as fun for you reading as it did for me writing! thank you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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